The Journal
by kurtofsky4eva
Summary: Set after 'On My Way' episode: David's words, Kurt's words and finding hope. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**It gets better**

**By Kurtofsky4eva**

**Summary: Set after 'On My Way' episode: David's words, Kurt's words and finding hope.**

**A/N: I think this was just bursting to come out and I couldn't hold it back. Read and review, please! **

**Disclaimer: I do not nor will ever own anything Glee; you know who does.**

_Journal Entry:_

One more time my shoulder made contact and I hurt at the thought that I was causing him pain. His slighter body hit the locker and the sound was louder than I expected. I saw the outrage on his beautiful face and I knew my own frown must have been pretty fierce.

I don't want to want him; I don't want to love him, but I do. Maybe if I make him hate me then I can hate him.

He slid down the front of the locker and when his butt hit the floor I couldn't control a slight wince and I hoped the other guys didn't see it.

I hate myself. I didn't start out this way, hurting the boy I love just because I hurt.

I remember a time, before he grew so freaking gorgeous, that I could see him without my heart hurting. I could pass him in the school hallways or see him in the cafeteria and not know this shameful pain. He was just another kid and I was just another kid, caught up in our own little worlds of schoolwork, homework, after-school stuff and cackling friends.

Then, one day he was just different. I had known for a while that I was different, that things had changed for me. I used to laugh and make tasteless jokes with the other guys about girls and what was inside their blouses or under their skirts and what we would do with them, if they gave us half a chance.

Gradually, that changed for me and I became uncomfortable in my own body, feeling things I didn't want to feel when the other jocks changed in front of me after football practice. I would get these strange feelings in my stomach that would slide further down and I hated those feelings even if a part of me relished them.

Things changed even more for me when he changed; one day he just seemed taller, slimmer, his hair was shinier, his face glowed even brighter and I couldn't stop looking at him. It was even worse when he started wearing those fancy designer things that hugged his body and drew my eyes to a part of him that just taunted me with its sheer perfection.

He was just bright and beautiful and so stunning he made my heart clench – and my stomach, too. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me, if he even looked at me. When I realized that I was falling in love with him I grew angry. It hurt to know this beautiful boy would never look at me and see anything but one of a number of lumbering, sweating, loud-mouthed idiots who weren't fit to breathe the air he breathed.

I hated him. I loved him. No, I **love** him; even when I high-fived my closest friend and could feel the heat of his glare for the hurt I caused him with that shoulder check, I still loved him.

I looked back over my shoulder, just a quick glance, but our eyes met and I wished I could rewind my life. I wished I could go back to that first day when I realized Kurt Hummel was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.

Then maybe, if I had been smarter, I would have found a way to sit beside him in classes, share jokes about the clueless teachers and complaints about the amount of homework assigned us. Then, maybe, we could have become friends and maybe I wouldn't have turned into this lumbering, sweating, loud-mouthed idiot who had to resort to locker slams and slushie facials just to have him look at me and see me, Dave Karofsky.

Maybe Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky could have become more than friends by the time our junior year came around and pain wouldn't be the only thing connecting us.

Yeah, I love a boy and he hates me… but not more than I hate myself.

_End Journal Entry_

Paul Karofsky stood up from the bed, the dark blue, leather-covered journal held loosely in one hand. That hand was shaking; his face was pale and drawn and his eyes were sunken, staring off into the middle distance.

He had had no idea his son had been feeling all these things, thinking all these thoughts, and he didn't know whether to be sad or angry. He was numb but beneath that numbness was a yawning despair that made him wonder: was this my fault?

He bit his lip to hold back the threatening tears as he thought of his son, struggling for years with growing feelings for another boy and being unable to say anything to him, his father. Was he, the clueless father, just as much to blame as those homophobic jerks for his son's decision to end his life?

_**No!**_ His mind screamed so suddenly it almost startled him. His soul rejected the thought outright. _**I didn't know, he never said anything.**_

'_You knew something was wrong, though,'_ a voice came out of nowhere, surfacing from some unknown area of his mind; _'you knew when you had to be called to the school about the bullying. You knew something was wrong because that wasn't the bright, well-balanced kid you'd raised. You can't say now you didn't know!'_

A sob tore itself from Paul Karofsky's throat, a raw, painful sound that hurt just to be heard. The dam broke and tears he'd thought he'd finished shedding welled up anew. _**My boy, my Davey, I'm so sorry!**_

Hard, wracking sobs echoed around his son's bedroom but he couldn't stop them. It was almost as if he were standing outside of his body, watching this old-looking man double over, clutching that journal as if he were clutching the boy who right now was lying in a hospital bed. He was almost ashamed of that man who was powerless beneath the force of tears that shook him, that would have embarrassed him had the pain been any less intense.

_**Oh, Davey, Davey!**_

The truth is that no parent should have to find their child like he'd found David that day. His mind recoiled in horror at the thought that he could have been too late. He wailed at the thought that he could have been making funeral arrangements now rather than sorting out clothes for his son to wear home from that same hospital. Paul Karofsky fairly twisted with the agony of his thoughts and the nausea that threatened to unman him.

_**My poor boy, my poor sweet boy, I'm so sorry.**_

Slender arms came around him and it took him seconds to realize it was Denise; she must have entered while he was out of his mind or he would have heard her.

"Shh, shhhh, hush, he's going to be okay. Hush now, sweetheart, it's going to be alright." Her gentle voice, her sweet words cooled the heat of his pain in soft, slow waves. Gradually he calmed, his breathing slowed and he unclenched from around the journal.

When his swollen eyelids parted and his eyes fell on the blue leather, his lips tightened and twisted together. "I, I gave him this, you know… I thought maybe it would help. He used to seem so sad sometimes, you know?"

She nodded; he knew she was humoring him but he appreciated it. After all, she had helped him pick it out for his 15th birthday; that shade blue was his favorite, she had pointed out. Now she just held him and patted him, comforting him in silence as they thought about their poor, hurting son lying in a hospital bed, waiting for them to come for him.

Finally he could stand and, putting back the journal on the bed, he took up the bag with his son's clothes and looked at his wife. He nodded once and headed out the door, hearing her following him and was grateful that she was still silent.

Downstairs he got into the car on the passenger side; he was still too distraught to drive. He hoped by the time they got to the hospital all traces of his emotional collapse would have dissipated. He knew he would still look wan but he hoped Davey wouldn't notice. He had to appear strong for his boy, strong and supportive and accepting.

The drive to the hospital was made mostly in silence, the few questions and even fewer answers serving only to highlight the unnatural quiet in the car. His wife, he knew, was not as accepting about Dave's sexual orientation as he but he was too worn out to try and change her thinking. It would have to wait until both he and Dave were past this horrible point and on firmer ground. Denise's rigidity would have to take a backseat to seeing that their son was on the road to recovery.

They headed up to their son's room in relatively companionable silence; they were both occupied with wondering in what mood they would find him.

As they approached the door of the private room, their footsteps slowed unconsciously and Paul eventually came to a stop. He turned to Denise to ask her to wait and let him go in first when he heard voices. Their heads turned towards the sound, realizing that David had a visitor, and when he realized who was in there with their son, his eyes widened.

Raising one hand in a gesture to wait, he turned towards the door and looked in through the gap, his heart clenching at the sight.

There, sitting in the visitor's chair and talking urgently with David was Kurt Hummel. The boy's unusually soft but firm voice was slightly tearful as he spoke and Paul's mind reeled as he listened to what he was telling his son.

"It isn't going to be easy and there will be some days when life just sucks! But you're gonna get through this 'cause I'm gonna help you, and so is everyone else who loves you and accepts you for who you are – and if they can't accept that, then screw 'em!"

Paul just barely held in his gasp as the boy's hands reached out and clung together. He could see only a part of Kurt's face, the angle prevented him from seeing his son's but from the smile blossoming on that fair face, he knew David was smiling too.

He drew back and turned to his wife, tears once again threatening to overflow, and smiled. "It's going to be alright, sweetheart." He drew her into a tight hug, his face buried in her neck, and he sighed.

"It's going to get better."

**The End … or is it?**

**A/N: So, hate it or love it, just don't hold back; even negative responses can be insightful.**


	2. Chapter 2

**It will get better**

**Chapter Two**

**By Kurtofsky4eva**

**A/N: I had not ever planned to continue this but I got a couple of PMs in which I was begged to do Denise Karofsky's side of the whole thing, post 'On My Way'. Here it is and please, please, guys, review and let me know if it's worth continuing, okay?**

**Disclaimer: I do not nor will ever own anything Glee; you know who does.**

_Journal Entry:_

My life is a sepia landscape with dollops of color.

C'mon, David, how gay can you sound? My life is like a dull painful sensation, like a toothache that's pretty annoying but occasional moments of peace or agony are like splashes of color. There's burnt orange for the happy moments (few though they are) and an eye-searing red for the agonizing moments.

Burnt orange: It's a glowing, delicious color and I see it mostly when I'm talking to Kurt. It reminds me of that moment just before the sun sets and it's all red and orange before the purple streaks invade it and then the black closes in. It's beautiful and when I hear his voice on the cell phone I close my eyes and pretend.

Yeah, I pretend I'm with him somewhere beautiful where those colors surround us in the evening. The best part of that dream is that we would have spent the whole day together and the burnt orange signifies the transition to night. What that night would hold I can't even think about without my heartbeat speeding up.

God, I sound like a twelve-year-old girl! Or what I figure a 12-year-old would sound like because I have no freaking idea about anything. It would have been easier had I been born a girl but then I would have been one butt-ugly girl. Not like Kurt: he could have been born a girl and I don't know if it would have made a difference. He is beautiful.

Kurt Hummel – my victim and my crush. How pathetic is that? It's a good thing this Journal is private. I'd die – well, feel like dying anyway – if anybody read this word-vomit.

I'm pathetic. I know I shouldn't say that; that's what my counselor says. I shouldn't reinforce negative thoughts or words but I really do. Feel pathetic, that is. Even if Kurt has forgiven me, I don't think he could come to love someone like me – sweaty, chubby, bald by thirty.

Extraordinarily ordinary. That's me. I could get a tattoo but my dad would probably kill me.

As to the red, the painful moments that make me wish my dad had been too late, they don't come often but when they do they leave an afterimage.

My mom – that's the red in my life now.

I don't know what to say to her and I don't think she even wants to talk to me… or look at me… or remember that I'm her child.

I think I embarrass her. All her friends at church know about what happened; hell, it was all over Facebook and at school, just all over. She says she can hardly show her face in this town and I can see the resentment, the hurt I've caused her because of my 'sinfulness'.

I tried to talk to her; I tried to tell her I didn't choose to be this way. She stared at me as if I were a stranger she was forced to be polite to and that look hurt more than if she'd got mad and cursed me out. I could have dealt with that, I think. I just can't stand when she looks at me like that. I'm not her son anymore. When she talks to dad she says "your son". If we were millionaires or something she would have written me out of the will, taken away my inheritance.

I'm a disappointment, a shame and a disgrace. God, I don't know how many of those clichés I've heard over the last two weeks. The red bleeds over me when we are in the same room and I don't know how to ignore it, how to build a dam to hold it back or something.

My dad, though, he's like this really great blue color. I can't quite pin down what shade it is but it has a little red in it making it more interesting than just azure or aquamarine _

No – aquamarine is Kurt's eyes. I can't think about that. I'm not allowed to because he would never_

But my dad is great, though I can't say what that color he is but he's been there for me every step of this crappy existence. If he hadn't been here, him and Kurt, I don't know what I would have done. I have to tell my dad I love him and that he makes me feel better just being there. We don't say much but it's like I can feel his love for me, it's just he's a macho guy and saying that stuff is too sissy for us. We're guys, we don't go around saying pansy-ass stuff like that.

But I will tell him one day though, just not yet.

_End Journal entry_

#################

"Does he know you're reading that thing?"

Paul Karofsky jerked at the sound of his wife's cold voice. He tightened his grip on the blue-covered Journal and swallowed his tears. It took him a minute before he was composed enough to answer her, his voice cool.

"If you say anything about it, he might never be 'healed'," he said, his mind choosing the right word for his religious zealot of a wife. He thought of her that way, religious, not Christian. There was a distinct difference and many people didn't realize that. He knew the Bible himself and he knew that haters would never meet Christ's standards. And his wife was a hater. She hated her own son and she was too blind to even see it.

Denise Karofsky sniffed disdainfully at her husband's reply. David was fighting the healing she was praying for every Wednesday and Sunday with her church sisters. They all looked at her pityingly and she knew, she just knew some of them were wondering if it was her fault. Maybe she had babied him for too long, eh? Maybe she hadn't been firm enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe… the word just kept running around in her mind, tormenting her with her past actions and decisions, making her second-guess her every interaction with the boy.

How could a son of hers, a God-fearing woman, be… be… uh, she couldn't even say the dratted word!

And there was his father, sitting on that bed, holding that Journal and weeping like the weak-kneed fool that he was. Maybe it was his fault; maybe he hadn't been a manly enough role model for their child. _It was probably his fault not mine_, she thought, a red haze of anger descending on her.

She spun on her heels and left the room, that man and that God-forsaken journal. She tried to calm herself; it wouldn't do to show anger, it wasn't godly and she was nothing if not a godly woman.

Heading into her bedroom she sat herself down and reached for her Bible. _Lord, don't let that boy's sinfulness be laid at my feet,_ she prayed. _I did everything right, you know that! It won't be my fault that he's going to hell; if You must blame anyone, blame Paul. I did nothing wrong. Nothing._

Her Bible fell open to an often overlooked section, her eyes widening as they fell on the words. Her heart quaked as she read the lines:

_One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied: "'__**Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.**__'__ This is the first and greatest commandment. _

_And the second is like it: '__**Love your neighbor as yourself.**__'__ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments." _

Denise Karofsky was no fool: this was a sign. She had always used this particular method of finding Scriptures to suit or help in a situation she couldn't handle. Now, it had happened again but this time, she had clearly been in the wrong. She had been wrong and not just that, she had wronged her husband and her son.

The tears came, slow and painful as she clutched the book to her. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry_. Who she was apologizing to was unclear in her mind; she just felt the overwhelming need to say it: _I'm sorry_…

Dave, having come up the stairs had been trying to tiptoe past his mother's room. He hadn't wanted to draw her attention; he couldn't take the coldness around her when they met. Now, though, he stood in the doorway watching his mother clutch her Bible and cry and tears came to his own eyes.

He turned away to his room, trying not to make a sound but he couldn't hold back a sniffle. She really hated him and now he'd made her cry. Man, he just couldn't catch a break!

Suddenly, a small, quavering sound reached him and he froze, ashamed of the wetness on his face. His shoulders tensed but he didn't turn around until the second time he heard it…

"Davey?"

**The End… Maybe**

**A/N 2: For those who need to look it up, the Bible quotation is from Matthew 22: 35-40, New International Version. Personal observation: not all church-goers are Christ-lovers, for real. Drop me a line if you agree… or even if you don't.**


	3. Chapter 3

**It will get better**

**Chapter Three**

**By Kurtofsky4eva**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you to all the folks who read and reviewed this little story and to the folks who asked for a third and final installment. (**_**Warning for suicidal talk; rating adjusted to M.**_**) COMPLETE.**

**Disclaimer: I do not nor will ever own anything Glee; you know who does.**

* * *

><p><em><span>Journal Entry:<span>_

Love… it's painful, it's beautiful… and I _**hate**_ it.

Now that sounds crazy. How can you hate love?

I can hate it because it means pain in so many ways.

My dad and my mom loved me and I brought them the worst pain they have probably ever known. How?

I tried to kill myself because I was weak.

Yeah, weak and stupid and in love with a boy who doesn't remember I exist.

Love is painful because he can't love me back… and why should he? I'm no prize and I suck at even a simple romantic declaration.

_I think I love you_. How dumb was that? When he looked at me out of those pitying, soft blue eyes and rejected me, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. Me, in that stupid gorilla suit. How lame was that?

When everything hit the fan – those words scrawled and hurled at me, whispered loud enough for me to hear and worming their way into my mind – I knew I couldn't deal.

I was so scared, scared and sick and going crazy because I knew I couldn't live with the hate. I never knew that I had caused him this kind of pain. I thought it was only the physical stuff – the slushies, the shoulder checks against his locker – but I never knew until now that I made him feel how I was feeling then.

I felt like the whole world knew I was gay and hated me for it. No one hurt me physically but I hurt him physically **and** emotionally. I wanted to die.

I wanted to die and I was scared to die.

I know my parents will hate me forever - people who kill themselves burn in Hell, they say - because I did this horrible thing.

I am a horrible person. They don't deserve a gay kid. They didn't do anything to deserve this and even though it's going to hurt them when I die, it's the only thing I can think of.

I can't take it anymore. I never meant to hurt him so much he had to leave our school. He's stronger than me because he came back, beautiful as ever and stronger.

He came back and I love him more than before. I think he forgave me for hurting him but he can never love me. Why should he?

I want to die… but I don't know how to do it.

I'm scared.

_End Journal Entry_

.

Tears dripped onto the blue leather binding the tattered Journal and he wiped them off. The pain that resonated in those words made his heart ache and he could barely breathe. Swiping a hand beneath his eyes he bowed his head and swore he would never look at the book again.

Putting it aside, he got up and went to look out of the window down into the busy street. It was nearly 6 o'clock and he had to compose himself before the clock in the hallway chimed with its beautiful gong.

Shaking his head as tears threatened again, he thought over the last words he'd read. _'I'm scared.'_

There were more words after that but he couldn't bear to read them. Not now, not after all these years. Time had passed and it had done its healing. Things were better… but the presence of the words on the yellowed pages had struck a chord in him and he wished now he had not seen the old blue journal in the box.

Those boxes had been stored away for years in the spare room. He had opened it at a random page and although it wasn't dated, he remembered everything that had happened.

The sound of the key in the lock brought his attention around to the sight of the door opening, he mustered up a smile and greeted his lover.

"Hey, sweetie, traffic was light, huh?"

Dave smiled at him as he placed his briefcase on the hall table and shrugged out of his overcoat.

Kurt sniffed surreptitiously as Dave came toward him. He didn't want him to know he had been crying because he wouldn't stop until he found out the cause… and Kurt didn't want to tell him.

He glanced over at where he'd left the journal on the couch, glad that it was partially sunk between the cushions. He could distract Dave and then sneak it back into the spare room, hiding it back in the box in which he had found it.

Dave's eyes narrowed a bit as he approached his lover, eyeing Kurt's slightly pink eyes and the way his lips trembled slightly.

"Yes, you know the traffic can't stop me getting home, babe." He smiled as he slid his arms around Kurt's slender waist. He didn't comment on what he suspected; he just hugged Kurt to him and inhaled the scent that had come to mean so much.

Peace, security, love – Kurt was all that and more.

He pulled back and gazed into Kurt's beautiful azure eyes. "You okay?"

Kurt nodded, a genuine smile creeping across his face as he relaxed in David's arms. Seconds later a little chuckle escaped him and he lowered his eyes as his hands stroked across David's muscular chest.

"I was reading something that made me all teary-eyed; I'm okay, though." He looked back up at his lover and saw the relief in the hazel eyes he'd never believed he could come to love.

Dave kissed the lips that he had craved all those years, sighing as Kurt opened for him and let him in. Kissing Kurt was his very favorite thing to do and he never could get enough of his taste. He pulled back to gaze at the face of his dreams, the last face he'd apologized to when he'd tightened the belt around his neck eight years ago.

Now they stood in the middle of their home, holding each other as they gazed into eyes that reflected everything they felt for each other.

Kurt smoothed a finger down the cheek of the beloved face, marveling now that he would never have believed he could have this life.

Who would have thought he would run into David one day when he was late and dashing for the subway.

.

_Flashback:_

"Whoa, sorry, dude, didn't mean to_ Kurt?!"

Dave grabbed onto the slender figure that had barreled into him and gaped when Kurt Hummel stared back at him from wide, unforgettable blue eyes.

"Dave_ David Karofsky! Oh, my God, what are you doing in New York?"

Dave grinned down at Kurt, trying to take in everything; Kurt was as gorgeous as ever, dressed in an outfit that was no doubt by some designer whose name Dave probably wouldn't recognize. He stood with his hand on Kurt's elbow, forgetting that he had grabbed him to prevent him from falling over.

Kurt, too, seemed to have forgotten that Dave was holding him and stared at the former jock with a happy smile on his face.

Dave grinned like a fool, a light flush on his face as he studied everything about this boy, no, man, whom he'd loved for so long.

"Damn, it's been years, Hummel!"

Kurt threw back his head and laughed, his eyes sparkling as he looked at the handsome man staring at him like he was the Second Coming. He felt his cheeks heat up and a funny little swoop in his stomach at how hot David looked in his Brooks Brothers suit. Of course, Kurt recognized it, even though he had studied music at NYADA and not fashion as he'd planned.

"Huh, _'Hummel'_ is it now… _Karofsky_?" He laughed when the color deepened on David's cheeks and he thought how good the other man looked – all big and muscular and successful-looking.

They shuffled together as they tried to avoid the bustling crowds and dirty looks from people whose path they were blocking but they didn't care. Nothing mattered but the look in both their eyes.

It was a look that said, 'Hi, hello, I'd like to get to know you.'

_End Flashback_

.

… And they did get to know each other in a way they would never have expected way back when in high school.

Kurt Hummel and David Karofsky: both their names were on the lease to this mid-Manhattan townhouse and they had been together since that serendipitous meeting in a busy subway station three years before. They had fallen in lust, in love and into a life together that neither of them had dreamt of.

To the friends and family who had wondered and doubted and warned, they had nothing to say but that they were meant to be together. They truly believed that.

Eight years after David Karofsky tried to take his life, Kurt Hummel saved it.

**The End**

**PLEASE REVIEW**


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